


The Walls were Shaking, the Earth was Quaking

by Sena



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-17
Updated: 2010-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sena/pseuds/Sena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porn.  That's pretty much it.  Porn and maybe a little snuggling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Walls were Shaking, the Earth was Quaking

Sam sucks cock like a porn star, all enthusiastic moans and wet, slick mouth and hand working the base of Dean's cock in perfect rhythm. He looks up at Dean, his eyes dark with lust and crinkled at the corners like he's happy to be doing it, which Dean supposes he is, judging from how often he does it and how into it gets and how sometimes he can come just from sucking Dean's cock, not even touching himself.

The first time Sam sucked him off like that, practically sucked Dean's entire nervous system out through his cock, Dean said, "I really don't want to know where you learned that." His whole dark jealousy act didn't come across as very convincing, though, since he'd still been shaking at the time and his voice had been breathy and weak. Sam had laughed and curled himself around Dean's body and held him and kissed him gently over and over again, and he'd just said, "OK."

Weeks later, Dean says, "Fuck, Sammy. Where the hell did you learn that?"

Sam smiles and kisses Dean, and the taste of himself on Sam's tongue makes Dean moan and his cock twitch even though he just came so hard he actually saw stars. "Thought you didn't want to know," Sam whispers against his mouth.

"Changed my mind. You didn't do any porn while you were out there in California, did you?"

Sam's laugh is low and warm and he says, "God, no," as his fingers trace patterns through the sweat on Dean's stomach. "I just had a boyfriend is all."

Dean says, "Huh."

And Sam says, "Come on. All those times you came to Palo Alto and stood in the shadows watching me, you never noticed I sometimes dated guys?"

Dean closes his eyes and lets Sam hold him close. He'll protest the cuddling in a little while, once he regains feeling in his legs. He'll protest, but Sam will ignore him and nip at his chin and Dean will relax back into Sam's embrace, telling himself that holding each other is just for Sam's benefit.

"You knew I was there?" Dean asks. The way Sam's stroking his skin is lulling him to sleep. He wonders if the Sam's touches are random or if Sam's drawing sigils on him.

"I've always known you were there," Sam says, soft against his ear. Dean shivers and turns towards Sam's embrace and he thinks he should make some sort of protest. He was going to protest. He was going to say something about how he doesn't cuddle, but he does. He does with Sam. He holds on to Sam and Sam holds on to him and even before the sex, that was how it had always been. It's maybe the way it's supposed to be, him and Sam holding each other so close that nothing can ever get between them.

The next night, Sam fucks him hard, laughing with the joy of it, neither one of them caring about the headboard slamming into the wall or the distinctly pornographic soundtrack they're subjecting the other motel guests to.

"Like that?" Sam asks, slamming into him. "Beautiful fucking little slut. So fucking beautiful."

Dean thinks he should maybe object to being called a slut, but his ankles are up around his ears and his hands are on Sam's ass urging him forward and he's moaning and begging for more, for Sam to fuck him harder, so maybe Sam's just calling it like he sees it.

Sam's thrusts are rough, deep, so slow that Dean's close to screaming. He presses his forehead to Dean's and he's panting, his shoulders shaking with the effort of holding himself up, of holding off and fucking Dean as slow as he can.

"Jesus," Dean pants, his fingers digging into Sam's hips. He gasps and cries out as Sam slams into him. He's pretty sure there's going to be a headboard-shaped dent in the wall when they're done. "Come on," he gasps. "Come on, come on, fuck, Sam, God, please."

Sam laughs, not at Dean but just because he likes it so much. Dean doesn't think he's ever seen Sam so happy, which is more than enough reason for him to be doing this. Even if he hadn't wanted his brother since Sam was 15, even if he wasn't pretty much in love with the guy, he'd do it just to hear Sam's laughter and see that blissed-out look on his face.

"Please, God," Dean gasps again. He can barely move, the way Sam has him pinned to the bed, but he uses all his strength to hitch his hips forward. He tightens his ass around Sam's cock. "Fucking fuck me," he demands, getting a hand into Sam's hair and tugging hard.

Sam grins a smutty, dark grin at him and twists his hips and Dean's eyes roll back in his head and his toes curl and thank God anything they say or do while fucking is off limits or he might have to deny that soft keening sound coming from his throat.

"You love this," Sam whispers.

Dean hears it for the question it is and nods. "God, Sammy, love it so much."

"You like the way I make you feel?" Sam's hips pump just a bit faster, unhurried strokes instead of the hard, slow thrusts from a few moments before.

Dean nods. His eyes are open even though they're stinging with sweat. Sam's sweating, too, his skin flushed dark pink, his pupils blown as he slides into Dean over and over again.

"Mine," Sam whispers against Dean's temple.

"Yeah. Fuck. God, yeah. Yours, Sammy. Always yours."

That seems to be all Sam needed to hear because he grins and starts to fuck Dean in earnest, the headboard definitely ripping avocado-green wallpaper and cracking drywall, their moans loud enough that someone might have called the cops for disturbing the peace if they hadn't been in a shitty fleabag next to the Interstate that rented rooms both nightly and by the hour.

Dean comes screaming Sam's name and then passes out. It's only something he does when he comes really hard, and he'd feel like a tool for doing it with Sam if he wasn't cozy warm and wrapped up in Sam's arms when he finally comes to.

"Hey," he mutters. "Get off me, cuddling bitch."

Sam hums softly and kisses the hollow right beneath Dean's ear. He doesn't let Dean go, which isn't surprising. Sam's always done just what he wants.

"You are such a girl." The insult doesn't have much heat behind it, especially since Dean's rolling towards Sam as he says it. He nestles his thigh in between Sam's and sighs.

Sam strokes his fingers through Dean's hair and in the dim light coming around the motel curtain, Dean can see his sleepy smile. "Love you," Sam whispers.

Dean doesn't say it back, but he doesn't have to. He can tell by Sam's contented sigh that Sam knows exactly how he feels. That would have scared him before, would have terrified him with anybody else, but he's not with anybody else. He's with Sam, and in a cheap motel room, in a bed with itchy sheets and surrounded by a ring of salt, he and Sam cling to one another like they've always done, bodies pressed so close together you couldn't wedge anything, no matter how small, between them.


End file.
